Knowing she couldn't linger, she dragged a bandanna from her back pocket and, keeping her back turned toward the body, scrubbed the blood from her face and hands, up to her elbows. There wasn't a damn thing she could do about her ruined shirt. At least it was dark—a deliberate choice because it made it harder to detect the blood on her walk home.
And thinking of her walk… she had to get to it, shaking limbs or no, nausea or no.
She couldn't rest.
Couldn't indulge pity for herself or her victim.
Couldn't change her life, or the curse that haunted her.
Couldn't deny who and what she was: God's minion. For better or worse.
No one else would see that man as a demon. No one else would know that she'd done humanity a favor. They'd see his disfigured body and label her as the monster.
If he knew the truth, Detective Cross would try to arrest her, locking her away so that evil had free rein. She didn't want to fight with Cross. She didn't want to have to hurt him.
Blind fools, all of them.
Closing her eyes, she said a quick prayer, crossed herself, and thanked God for guiding her, for putting her there in enough time to keep that child safe.
She asked forgiveness for her weaknesses and her guilt, and she asked for the courage to continue doing what she must, just as Father Mullond had instructed her to do.
With that complete, Gaby dragged both sides of her big knife over the dead man's sleeve to clean it. She replaced it in her sheath and made sure her T-shirt covered it.
Mentally calculating her location, she decided to head for the nearest gas station. She needed water in a bad way—both to drink and to wash.
Putting her shoulders back made her feel stronger. She started out of the lot—and heard footsteps approaching. Her heart shot into her throat and without even thinking about it, she sought cover behind the brick building.
Darting one quick, cautious glance around the corner, she spotted Detective Luther Cross methodically picking his way up the incline toward the factory.
Son of a bitch.
Had he followed her? But how? Why?
To minimize her chances at getting lost, she wanted to return the same way she'd come. But Cross effectively removed that option. By the second, he drew nearer. She looked over her shoulder, seeing the carnage of the demon's body in all its gruesome display. She saw the Dumpster filled with rot, and beside it, her own vomit.
A telling scene.
It wouldn't take a genius to put it all together. If she got herself arrested, who would do her work?
Think, Gaby. Do something.
Her frantic, searching gaze fell on the path the boy had taken when he'd left her. Though she hadn't been able to focus on him at the time, her subconscious now supplied her with the image of him stumbling into a cluster of trees that overgrew the property.
Gaby didn't waste another second. She ran. And this time, running hurt like hell. Without the summons to guide her, to make her movements sinuous and economic, she stumbled in her flip-flops. Twigs and stones nicked her toes. Her lungs labored and her sluggish limbs refused to help. Once safely buried in a thicker cover of trees, she paused to look back.
Through the leaves and limbs, she could barely see Detective Luther Cross standing over the body and cursing a blue streak while scanning the area. Gaby watched him with narrow eyes and burning annoyance.
Why did he have to interfere?
And why did an almost ethereal white veil drift gently around him?
The detective was a good man, but not good enough to divine her purpose. Not good enough to be trusted by God. He'd arrest, condemn, and lock her away without a moment's hesitation.
Just once, Gaby wished someone would trust in her the way Father Mullond had.
Cross pulled out his cell phone and punched in a call, barking into the phone while walking a wide circle around the area, careful not to disturb the evidence.
Making no sound, Gaby slunk away, farther and farther into the woods. God must have been guiding her, because no twigs snapped. No leaves crunched. When she was far enough from Cross that he couldn't hear her, she began running again, as fast and hard as she could push her drained body.
Within minutes, the whole area would be swarming with cops. She didn't intend to be anywhere around when they got there.
As Gaby skulked deeper and deeper into the dank woods, itchy sweat, earthly grit, and the stench of fear coated her skin. She stumbled along until her lungs burned and her thighs felt leaden. She didn't dare stop. Cops could be tenacious, and she knew they'd be looking everywhere for their supposed murderer.
Frustration clouded her eyes, but she'd long ago given up on crying. Anyway, cursing made her feel better than crying did, and she gave in to the urge to voice her discontent.
After several lurid, coarse words, her foot caught on a broken piece of concrete. With a grunt of surprise, she pitched forward and landed on all fours.
A mere inch from her nose, a stone slab crawling with wild ivy and multilegged insects rose up from the earth.
She'd almost cracked her head open.
So close to the unforgiving stone, Gaby couldn't quite read the stamped letters. They blurred into unrecognizable gibberish until she cautiously levered herself away. Dead branches from a thorny bush cut into her palms and knees. A broken twig gouged her upper arm.
She barely noticed.
The marker sat crookedly upright on the weedy ground, an eerie specter of past life. Filled with a deviant trepidation, Gaby stripped away the knotted, entwined vines and read aloud, "Mulhauser County Isolation Hospital."
A hospital?
In the middle of the woods?
But a quick look around assured her that the area hadn't always been wooded. The abandoned building was the victim of neglect. "Erected AD 1850 by the Board of Chosen Freeholders of Mulhauser County."
Not since Father died had she been anywhere near a hospital. Her heart stuttered in familiar rage.
The cold stone boldly displayed the names of a director, supervisor, medical advisor, architect, and assistant. Eyes narrowed, Gaby whispered aloud, "Cancer Research Center."
Sound and sight receded. Seconds stretched into a Ml minute. Memories overtook her mind, playing in rapid, clicking succession with the jarring clarity of a movie reel.
Father Mullond growing ill.
Losing weight.
Losing strength.
Losing his sanity.
Medicines and medical treatment had only robbed him of his dignity and multiplied his suffering. She remembered all the clerics praying to no avail.
She remembered her useless tears, which hadn't changed a thing.
Most of all, she recalled the tragic, yet merciful end that had taken too long to arrive. By the time God claimed him, Father had become a wasted, shriveled being, hollow in body and mind, in no way resembling the powerful man he'd once been.
With a shock, Gaby sucked in a gasping breath and fought off a recurrence of the nausea. She wouldn't think about those awful days, and weeks, and months. She wouldn't think about the year when her world had crashed down around her, when the only friend she'd ever known had been tortured by nature—by the very God she worked so hard to appease.
She wouldn't think about being alone in a life plagued by evil forces that only she could see.
"Screw this." Using the marker for leverage, Gaby pulled herself to her feet. Bloody fingerprints remained on the stone as she peered around, at last seeing through the woods to the forsaken hospital lurking within.
Staring at the building, she sneered, "So it looks big and imposing? It's also dead and empty and… nothing at all."
Covered in abundant plant life, cut off from human traffic, few people would remember this place or even see it. Life would buzz around it, never once making notice of the atrocious structure.